Build Me a Bridge

Build Me a Bridge

by

Lise Lyng Falkenberg

*****

Copyright 2012 Lise Lyng Falkenberg

Smashwords edition

Smashwords edition, Licence Notes

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Prologue

Tonight fans from all over the country will gather in Hyde Park to commemorate Frederick Red Fred Forsythe, who was killed on April 14th, 2008. A year ago today, the popular ginger singer was brutally stabbed to death in his hotel room in Chicago at the age of 28. Red Fred, who had left top British group Red Hot Rulers after five years of success with five number one singles and three number one albums, was killed during his first U.S. solo tour in April last year. To this day his murder remains unsolved. His memory will be honoured by a tribute concert at 8 p.m.

What are you reading that crap for? Greg asked and tapped the paper. Robert looked up, Well, nothing really. Just bored.

Rob was sitting backstage at the venue in Brighton, waiting for the band to finish changing. He and Greg were to guard the entrances to the backstage area as soon as the band went on.

Greg got into his bright yellow security guard vest and said, Oh, that’s right! You were in Chicago when Red Fred got himself killed, weren’t you?

Well…yes, Rob answered. He had been in the U.S. when it happened, travelling the country from New York on the East Coast to Los Angeles on the West Coast for a month before starting his new job. He’d been in Chicago, too.

Better get going, Greg went on. I think the guys will be out in a second.

Right. Rob got his yellow vest out of his bag.

Robert was trained and licensed as a security management officer, but after spending years monitoring CCTV cameras, he had moved into personal security, working for a small firm in London. He was basically a bodyguard, which wasn’t as glamorous as certain films made it out to be, but it beat watching CCTV by far and you got to know a thing or two about how the rich and famous lived.

Robert was a tall guy, 6 ft. 5 with broad shoulders and broad hips. He was dark and hairy, his Italian ancestry showing, and people wouldn’t mess with him. He had grown up with a mother and two sisters, his father having died young of prostate cancer, and he had been the man of the house ever since he was ten. His looks reflected that and that was probably why he was in demand for security guard jobs.

For almost eleven months now he had worked for Alfred Bradhurst Management as a personal bodyguard for rock musicians when they were touring or shooting videos. The killing of Red Fred last year had made the music industry a bit nervous, but as Red Fred had been one of Alf Bradhurst’s acts, of course he was more jumpy than the rest.

Since Robert got back from his vacation in the States, he had only had one other job for the security guard bureau and that was escorting some snotty series actress from a hotel in London to Heathrow Airport last year. After that he had worked for Alf exclusively, protecting his four remaining acts: The Plastic Scousers, Red Hot Rulers, Pan’s Revenge and Insignia. Insignia was by far the most popular of the bands, but Rob rather liked to work with Pan’s Revenge.

The best job Rob had had by far was late last May when he was sent out to be on the grounds when Pan’s Revenge shot a music video. The video was for their third hit song and he was to protect the band members from their fans.

The band had just returned from their Dead Darlings tour of the U.S., Europe and Scandinavia and the new video was a re-enactment of some of their experiences there. One scene had them fleeing from fans, kind of like Beatles-style, and that was how he met Cha-Cha. Rob had known right from the start that they were meant to be. It was the proverbial love at first sight.

The Insignia guys came out of their dressing room and Greg and Rob followed them to the stage. The venue had its own security staff, of course, but Alf didn’t take any chances. He wanted his own men to guard the backstage entrances.

The warm up band had just finished and went off stage, so Greg and Rob made their way to the entrances on either side of the stage, while the Insignia guys were standing in the wings, waiting for the crew to get their gear ready.

Have a nice one! their drummer yelled after Rob and Robert smiled, You too, Mike!

Then he went out front.

The concert was like any other Insignia concert. People clapping and screaming and singing along, a few girls passing out or crying at the sight of their idols. Rob hardly noticed anymore. He just thought of his baby Cha-Cha.

Cha-Cha was the prettiest creature in the world with long, dark hair and eyes as soft and brown as coffee coloured velvet. A body to die for, of course, and then the scent. Whenever they made love Cha-Cha’s skin would send out a rich aroma of lavender. Robert loved it. He could daydream about that scent for ages, but he only had ninety minutes, then the concert was over and he had to make his way back to the dressing room.

The band came off stage all sweaty and high on adrenaline and Rob and Greg had to wait around while they showered and changed and signed autographs for the chosen few, who were allowed backstage after the show. The guys had a couple of sandwiches and some heavy drinks as well before leaving the venue and taking the tour bus to London. Both Greg and Rob were London based, and so was Insignia, so they would rather enjoy the night at home than at some bullshit party in some bullshit Brighton hotel.

It was past two in the morning before they dropped off the last of the musicians. It was the drummer, Mike Weller, and he said, See you Thursday, then? when he left.

Yeah, see you, both Greg and Rob muttered. They were tired, but at least they had Wednesday off and then after three more concerts all in London, they would have a week’s rest.

Rob got off in Kensington and when he reached his flat, the first thing he noticed when he turned on the lights – apart from the heaps of mail of course - was that his fig tree had died.

Damn!

He had a fig tree in the living room and he’d always liked it as it reminded him of Italy, but it suffered from neglect whenever he was away on tour because no one watered it, and this time it had went and died. Just like Red Fred. Rob would have to take care of it tomorrow, right now he just needed a drink before he went to bed.

Robert poured himself a glass of white wine and slumped down on the bay window seat. He pulled out his mobile phone, wondering if it was too late to call Cha-Cha, but then deciding that it wasn’t. He so longed to hear the voice of his pretty baby.

Quickly he dialled the number and after a series of annoying ring-tones, there it was, Hello?

Hi Cha-Cha, it’s me.

Robbie?

Yes. I just got back from Brighton. I miss you.

I miss you too, Robbie.

They talked for a while about the concert and the fig tree dying, then Robert said, When can I see you?

I don’t know, Cha-Cha hesitated. When do you have the time?

Well, after Saturday I have a week off.

I could come down Sunday, then.

For how long?

I’m working Thursday, so I have to get back Wednesday night, but…

Three days, then.

Yeah…

That was what Robert hated. They hardly ever saw each other. Cha-Cha lived on the outskirts of Sutton Coldfield in a place called Little Sutton, eight miles north of Birmingham City centre and because of that, they weren’t able to see each other as much as Rob would like. They’d talked about it several times, of course, but Cha-Cha wasn’t willing to move. Rob didn’t get it and whenever he had the chance, he pestered Cha-Cha about it. He did now as well, Why don’t you get out of the Midlands and come live with me?

You know why.

And yes, Robert knew, but still he didn’t get it, Come on, love, you’re twenty-three now, you can make up your own mind. You don’t have to live with Ade for the rest of your life.

Robert darling, Cha-Cha’s voice shook a little. I need to, don’t you see? There’s no one in the world I’d rather be with than Adrian.

Online Love

Adrian opened the oven door and the rich aroma of scones teased his nostrils. He smiled to himself and got out the baking tray before turning off the oven. Gently he moved the scones from the tray to a wire rack in order for them to cool a bit while he put the kettle on and got out the butter and strawberry jam.

Adrian was home alone, having a week off from work. Well, he wasn’t all alone as the dogs were there, Paco and Paz, two five year old Catalan Sheepdogs, but they were currently snoozing in the sunlight on the living room floor, the seductive smell of scones not having reached their noses, yet. Adrian hummed to himself as the kettle started to whistle. Quickly he prepared the tea and took two of the scones and placed them on a plate with a knife and the butter and jam. For a second he thought about adding some whipped cream, but decided against it. He had to keep in shape.

With the mug of tea in one hand and the plate of warm scones in the other he made his way past the sleeping dogs in the living room to the conservatory. Catching his own reflection in the glass door, he couldn’t help but smile. His friends used to tease him, calling him Gramps, and dressed as he was in a cardigan and slippers, tea and scones in his hands, it was obvious why. He chuckled to himself, then came to a rest in one of the armchairs in the conservatory.

A deep sigh of contentment escaped Adrian’s lips as he felt the soft upholstery of the armchair nestle close up to his back. He leaned forward a bit to put some butter and jam on a scone, then leaned back and took a bite. It tasted lovely. The jam was rich and the scone soft and butter-meltingly hot. Adrian ate the scone slowly while watching the garden through the conservatory windows. Spring was here, the fruit trees in bloom and the hyacinths, tulips and peony were all stretching their heads to greet the sunlight. The pure vigour of nature made him feel slightly dizzy. He loved the green of the trees, the colours of the flowers and the heat of the May sun that was increased by the large conservatory windows. Maybe he should go for a swim later on? They had a heated pool in the back of the garden and it looked mighty tempting on a day like this.

Adrian took a sip of tea and buttered the second scone before reaching for his book on the small coffee table. It was a biography about Louis Bonaparte, the brother of Napoleon. He had been the king of Holland for four years in the early nineteenth century. Adrian found his reading glasses next to the book and began reading. They were going to Holland next week and he liked to know a bit about the historical background of places he was visiting. Adrian sighed a pleased sigh. He loved his alone-time.

Twenty minutes later Adrian was abruptly torn out of the world of Louis Bonaparte, his attempts at speaking Dutch, his troubles with his wife Hortense and his constant moves from Amsterdam to The Hague to Rotterdam and so forth.

Bloody mobile… Adrian swore softly, but pulled the phone out of his shirt pocket to silence its insistent ring-ring-ring.

Hello?

Hi Adi.

Phil. What’s up?

Just checking on you, said Phil grinning, to make sure you are not lonely.

I’m not.

And truly, he wasn’t. The mobile phone had woken the dogs and in that moment they entered the conservatory, barking and begging when they eyed the second scone that Adrian had left untouched on his plate. He knew that he shouldn’t, but he reached out with his free hand and fed the buttered halves to the dogs. That should keep them quiet for a second.

Well, I’m off work at four today, Phil went on. You wanna go for a beer or something?

Maybe. I just have to… The dogs started barking again. I just have to take the dogs for a walk. Can I call you later?

Yeah. Whatever.

I’ll call you in a couple of hours, then.

Alrighty, mate. Speak later.

Yeah. Bye Phil.

Adrian turned to the dogs, What is it with you guys? You wanna go for a walk? Go walkies? The dogs danced around him, but it was obviously the scone more than a walk that had them going. He patted them and wrestled a bit with Paco, then got up off the chair, Alright then. One scone each, but just one, you hear? He took off his reading glasses and went to the kitchen, the dogs jumping and dancing around his feet.

When Adrian had finished feeding the dogs, he took them for a walk in the fields behind the house where they could run free. He played with them for a while, then sat on a fence watching them while enjoying the mild May sun on his face.

Phil was his oldest and best friend. They had known each other since their first day at Secondary School and Phil was fun to be around. Adrian used to go to the pub with him or the football and until a couple of years ago hardly a week had gone by without them being together. Sitting in the sun, Adrian came to realise that although he didn’t feel like going out tonight, he was going to do it anyhow. His job gave him all the excitement he could handle, and that was why he loved the peace and quiet at home, but he had to be careful not to get too caught up in his grandfather ways when he was on his own.

He knew he used to excuse his alone-time with being prone to migraine attacks and solitude helped a bit with the headaches, but on the other hand he had to be with his mates as well, especially as his work didn’t allow him much downtime. So who was he not to go to the pub with Phil whenever he was able to?

Adrian got up and whistled for the dogs. Paco came straight away, then Paz. Right, boys, he said. We’d better get back. I think you’ll have to stay with Mum and Dad tonight. As if Paco understood, he looked at his master with sad eyes, but Adrian got down and ruffled his dark coat, Don’t look at me like that, Pac, it’s just until tomorrow! He put the leashes on the dogs and pulled out his mobile. While leaving the fields, he dialled the number, Mum? Hi, it’s Adrian. Is it okay if I bring the dogs over? I’m going out with Phil tonight.

When Adrian got back from dropping off the dogs at Mum and Dad’s, he thought he’d better check his mail before getting ready to meet Phil. He fetched his reading glasses in the conservatory, then went into the study and turned on the computer. He checked his Gmail before his Twitter account.

It was the usual stuff; a few emails from friends abroad, some info from the fan club, an email from the music shop and a forwarded one from Alf. Adrian opened it. Usually Alf never forwarded emails.

Dear Alfred Bradhurst Management, Adrian read. "I am writing you on behalf of the Sunderland cultural magazine e.scape where I’m currently working on an article about famous twins in the music industry. The article is to feature illustrated biographies on twins from groups like Good Charlotte, Biffy Clyro and The Cribs and we would like to feature the Lewis twins from Pan’s Revenge as well. Unfortunately – being a small magazine – we don’t have any photos of the Lewis twins at our disposal so I would be very happy if you could send us a free-of-charge press photo of the twins to use in the article. Thank you in advance. Yours sincerely, Karen Fielding"

Adrian knotted his brows. He had no idea why Alf had forwarded this email to him. Usually the press agent would deal with stuff like that. Then he spotted Alf’s comment above the forwarded mail, Up to you guys. We don’t run a charity, but if you want to give away free pics for a bit of mackem publicity, be my guest.

Adrian smiled. So that was it, was it? Alf wanted to charge for the photo and usually you would, but… For a second something fluttered in Adrian’s stomach. He wasn’t sure why or what, but somehow this email made him feel that he could do something good. Normally the press agent dealt with the press and the fan club with fans, Adrian seeing very little of either. Things were only forwarded to him if the fans sent something special, like the get well cards last winter when Pan’s Revenge had to cancel a concert due to his migraines, or the cookbooks and biographies that used to arrive on his birthday. He didn’t even sign autographs himself, as the fan club secretary had a stamp with his signature engraved. So actually seeing this request from a magazine was something that happened very rarely and he felt the need to respond to it.

Usually Adrian would have to check things like this with his brother, but he was away in Spain for the week for a little r&r and besides, a photo request was hardly worth bothering him for. Adrian put on his glasses in order to compose a response. But what should he write? Dear Karen. No, that sounded too intimate and if she was a fangirl he might never get rid of her! Dear Miss Fielding? But was she a Miss or a Mrs?

Arh, come on, Ads! he said loudly to himself. This isn’t a Declaration of Independence! Just write! And he wrote, Hi Karen, of course you can have a pic of us for your article. You want a concert photo or an ordinary press photo? Best wishes Adrian Lewis.

He hit the send button before he had the time to regret it. Then he quickly looked through the social network accounts. The press agent took care of My Space, Facebook, Bebo and the rest, but all the band members had their own personal Twitter accounts. He had four hundred tweets from fans since last night. The usual stuff. People asking his favourite colour, declaring their love for him or asking if it was true that he was engaged to be married. He answered about eight of them: green, aww you make me blush, no it isn’t true.

Among the tweets from the people he followed, he found one from his brother, Having a fun time. Hope everyone is well and making plans for the weekend. Adrian smiled. Then he wrote a tweet to his followers as well, Took the dogs for a walk in the fields today. Now time for laps in the pool. He was about to log out, when he had an idea. He went to the Find People-option on his Twitter account and typed in Karen Fielding. He got four hits, but none of them were from Sunderland. Ah well, she probably wasn’t on Twitter anyway. He was quite new to it himself and had only been on for two months.

Adrian turned off the computer and called Phil. He didn’t pick up so Adrian left a message after the bip, Hi Phil, I’m just going for a swim. I’ll be down at the pub at six. See you. He left the study and went upstairs to change into swimming trunks.

After forty minutes Adrian went back inside the house. The swim had been pretty refreshing although the air was a bit cool when he left the pool. He was still drying himself when he passed the door to the study and somehow he couldn’t help but get side tracked. He quickly turned on the computer and opened his Gmail. He actually felt his heart skip a beat when he spotted the email in the inbox.

He found his reading glasses next to the computer and opened the email, Dear Adrian Lewis, I was quite surprised to hear from you yourself, but of course I am very grateful that you’ll help me out. It doesn’t matter as such if it is a concert photo or not, as long as it only features you and your brother. Something out of the ordinary would be good, of course, but it is up to you. If you have one that is 300 dpi, it would be perfect. All the best, Karen Fielding.

Adrian dried his hair while thinking about photos. He didn’t have that many concert shots of only him and his brother as most of them featured the rest of the band as well. But something out of the ordinary…well, he might just be able to manage that.

Just last month they had some pictures taken with the dogs, messing around in the garden. They hadn’t been intended for publishing, but for Mum on her birthday. She was always complaining about not having any recent photos of the twins, except for the ones that surfaced in the press.

Adrian found the pics on the computer. They were good. He especially liked the one where they were all playing with a football. And it was 300 dpi. He could send that to Karen. Karen. Adrian really liked the name. He felt a sudden shudder down his spine and realised that he was still in his trunks. That reminded him of…

He had some other pictures. The ones from last summer. He found them on the computer. They were in the pool, just him and his bro. Adrian looked tanned and happy. His brother…ah, well, his brother always looked good. He had one of those open, curious faces that everybody liked. And a great body. Compared to him Adrian looked a bit skinny, actually. Oh well. It was just 150 dpi, anyway.

Back on the Gmail Adrian wrote a quick answer, Hi Karen, I have this one of us with our dogs in the garden. It has never been published.

He took a deep breath, then continued, I have one of us in the pool as well, but it’s only 150 dpi. What do you think? I’m attaching it just in case. Cheers, Adrian.

He attached both photos and sent the mail. This time he didn’t turn off the computer before going upstairs.

When Adrian had changed into a shirt and tie and a pair of black jeans, he went to the computer again. Karen had already answered, Hi Adrian, Wow, those are fantastic pics! Is it okay if I use both? I can’t decide which to use, as they are both wonderful. Thank you. All the best Karen.

Adrian smiled and wrote back straight away, Hi Karen, you’re welcome. What about the other twins? In your initial letter you mentioned Good Charlotte, Biffy Clyro and The Cribs. Are there any more? Cheers Adrian

Adrian didn’t know why he wrote this. It was just…for some odd reason he didn’t want the conversation to end, so he had to ask her something. This time he didn’t even get to leave the study before Karen answered back. She must be sitting at her computer, Hi Adrian, yes, my editor wanted me to include Charlie and Craig Reid from The Proclaimers and Tom and Bill Kaulitz from Tokyo Hotel as well. So you’re in a bit of mixed company, I’m afraid! All the best Karen.

That’s okay, Adrian wrote back. Did you write all the other twins asking for photos as well?

No, she answered. Only Gary and Ryan Jarman from The Cribs. Haven’t heard from them, yet. We already have photos of Ben and James Johnston from Biffy Clyro in our archives and my editor has personal shots of the Reid and the Kaulitz twins. He’s a fan.

What about Benjy and Joel Madden?

I saw Good Charlotte in Newcastle a couple of years ago and took some pics.

I see.

Adrian thought for a while before continuing. He felt that the subject was more or less exhausted, so he had to come up with something else, "So you’re both a writer and a photographer? I’m impressed. Have you always worked at e.scape?"

He didn’t get to send the email, as the phone rang, and Adrian picked it up a little annoyed, Yes??

Don’t yell! Where are you?

Phil?

Yes, who else? I’ve been waiting for you at the pub for half an hour now!

Adrian looked at his wristwatch. Half past six.

Oh, Phil, I’m sorry, something came up!

I don’t care what came up! Just get your lazy butt down here!

I will. Sorry Phil, I’ll be there in ten minutes! Turrah.

Adrian quickly hit the send button, then turned off the mobile and the computer. A couple of minutes later he was on his way to the pub.

Going out without being recognised wasn’t always easy, but down at the pub it didn’t matter. They all knew Adrian and took no notice. He had frequented the pub way before he became famous and he was sure he would be going there long after fame had gone. The bartender and the regulars just gave him a nod and he quickly made his way to Phil who was sitting at the usual table.

Finally! Phil said. Your beer is getting flat, mate. He nodded at the tap beer that he had ordered for him. Adrian sat down and took a good sip before saying, Sorry I’m late.

Yeah. Phil looked at him with amusement in his eyes. He was a short bloke, Phil, with brown hair and humorous blue eyes, You don’t know what you’ve been missing!

Have I missed something?

Yup! A bunch of birds were in here earlier and I swear they were looking for you! Fangirls, I’m sure. You should have seen the tits on one of them! Phil gestured with his hands, indicating that the bosom size of one of the girls could easily match that of Dolly Parton. Phil grinned, I tell ya, mate, you could have scored her. A night in boob heaven, eh?

Adrian just smiled, Oh well, easy come, easy go.

Yeah… Phil drank for a while before saying, So what was it that held you up, oh mighty rock star?

Stop it! Adrian smirked, then shrugged his shoulders. It was nothing. Just a bit of press, really.

You’re on the front page tomorrow or something?

Nah, it was for some Sunderland mag.

Mackem girls are good, Phil nodded. He had been with Adrian and Pan’s Revenge quite often when they toured the UK

Don’t you ever think about anything but girls, Phil?

Do you?

Adrian grinned. He did think about things other than girls, but not at the moment. At the moment he only thought about Karen, although he had no idea why. He knew, though, that he didn’t want to share this bit of information with Phil.

Drink up, mate, he said. I’ll buy the next round.

You better!

Adrian and Phil left the pub around ten o’clock, Adrian heading home. Usually he would have gone with Phil to Après Bar in Mere Green, but tonight he couldn’t wait to get home. Had he known that he would be back that early, he wouldn’t have bothered to walk the dogs over to Mum and Dad’s, but on the other hand it was nice to have the entire house to himself.

The first thing Adrian did was to check his email. He might as well admit it: his beer-flushed cheeks got even hotter, when he saw Karen’s email.

Hi Adrian, she wrote. "Don’t be too impressed! I have a Masters in Media and Journalism from Newcastle University, but photography is purely a hobby! And no, I haven’t always worked at e.scape. I used to teach at Sunderland University, but I didn’t like it. You wouldn’t dream of what is going on behind the sacred walls of academia! It’s a kindergarten, I tell you! It’s all like…boohoo, Professor X has a bigger office than me and Professor Y has stolen my research! They’re like little kids! I really didn’t feel like spending my life there. All the best, Karen"

Adrian chuckled to himself. Then he realised that Karen had sent the email almost four hours ago and he decided to write back before going to bed, You’re funny, you know that? Sorry, I didn’t write back straight away, but I had to meet an old friend for a beer. I see why you didn’t like it at the university, so is the magazine any better? Anyway, sleep well, Karen. I’m off to bed. Nighty night. Adrian.

Adrian made his way up to his bedroom, singing to himself. The warmth from the beer had increased from the warmth of Karen’s email and Adrian found the heat spread to parts of his body that usually didn’t inflate with blood that easily after four beers. He got into bed and slipped a hand into his boxers, pleasing himself to the fantasies of Karen rather than the fantasies of an unknown bird with Dolly Parton boobs. He came with a low, guttural moan, then turned over on his side and slept like a baby.

As soon as he had showered and shaved the next morning, Adrian went downstairs and turned on the computer. Ah, yes. An email from Karen, Good morning, Adrian! How’s your head today? To answer your question: it isn’t much of a challenge to work as a hack, but the editor is my mate. We were fellow students at uni. Edmond (that’s his name) started out on his own, so when he asked me to come and work for him, I accepted. Couldn’t be worse than teaching, right? Although Edmond is the main editor, I’m part of the editorial staff as well – which means I have a bit of influence when it comes to which stories to write and how they are to be written. And I kind of enjoy it. Get to know some pretty interesting people, too, like you for instance! Have a nice day. Karen.

Adrian smiled and licked his lower lip before answering, "A good morning to you, too, Karen, although I’m ashamed to admit that it is already 11 a.m.! My head is fine, though. Thanks for asking, haha! Your job sounds like a pretty sweet deal to me, and as long as you can make a living from it, I think it is great helping out a friend. So what